


Bewilder

by Rivendell101



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Idiots in Love, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Light Angst, M/M, Meet the Family, Romance, alone at christmas, awkward first meetings, christmas shenanigans, oops i'm in love with my best friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivendell101/pseuds/Rivendell101
Summary: “Keith and I are getting married,” Lance blurts without meaning to, flashing the ring on his finger. The table falls silent. His mother spills red wine across the white tablecloth. Keith chokes on the roll he had just placed in his mouth. “You’re what?” Ari asks, mouth falling open. “We’re what?” Keith wheezes, eyes wide. Lance kicks him under the table.Allura stares back at the man in surprise, her eyes going impossibly wide as her gaze slips down the stranger’s very bare—very wet chest. The stranger blinks back, a toothbrush half-hanging out of his mouth. She can hear Coran’s voice coming through the phone, but the words are lost on her. Allura shrieks suddenly, tossing the nearest object—her admittedly useless sunglasses—at the man. “Who the hell are you and why the fuck are you naked?”Hunk laughs as Katie tries to place the star on top of the tree--tries being a very important word there. She stretches up on her toes, but still falls at least a foot short of the top. Her eyes narrow, brow pinching in frustration as she bares her teeth at the offending flora. And when she turns to him and flashes a grin, he thinks he might be just a little bit in love. Wait, what?Life is full of surprises.





	

Keith stares back at Lance, an utterly bewildered look on his face as his expression twists up in an odd combination of confusion and exasperation—his _Lance face_ , as Hunk likes to call it. Keith isn’t sure why they need a special name for it, but he supposes it must be helpful for everyone else to immediately know when their roommate is being a _total dumbass_ just by the expression on Keith’s face. Granted, Lance hasn’t really done anything _too_ horrible this time given his lengthy track-record of bad decisions. Keith would consider this to be a four—maybe a five on a scale of “locked everyone out of the apartment during the middle of winter” to “what happened in Cancun.”

 God, he needs a nap. It’s too late to be dealing with this now.

Squeezing his eyes shut briefly, Keith silently prays that this is just some horrible misunderstanding and not, in fact, what he thinks it is. “I’m sorry, what?” he replies blankly, merely blinking at his roommate in shock, unable to process what the other man just asked him.

Lance sends him a megawatt smile and Keith kind of wants to rip it off his face. Only a little. “I want you,” Lance repeats slowly, pointing his fingers at Keith from where he’s sitting cross-legged on top of the washing machine, “to pretend to be my boyfriend and come home with me for the holidays so that I don’t look like a idiot in front of my family!” The last part comes out in a rush, Lance not pausing to breathe as he once again explains his ridiculous plan.

Dammit, all he wanted to do was wash his sweater, not deal with whatever _this_ is.

“Oh,” Keith responds after another beat, shifting the laundry basket in his arms as Lance continues to twiddle his thumbs and _not_ get off the washing machine. “No,” Keith tells him, shrugging one shoulder and silently debating the pros and cons of shoving his roommate off the machine.

On one hand, he would probably get his laundry done before going to sleep for the night. Which would be super nice because his favorite sleeping shirt is dirty at the moment. On the other, it might start an all out war in the laundry room and Keith doesn’t think he can deal with cleaning up that much laundry detergent again. Hunk was pretty mad when it happened the last time and it’s not really fair for him to be dragged into a petty fight because Lance won’t get his _fat ass off the washing machine dammit_.

Lance’s expression slackens, the smile practically melting off his face in a matter of seconds. “No?” he echoes, sputtering slightly as he gapes at Keith, mouth dropped open in utter shock.

Keith sighs, eyes rolling as Lance continues to gawk at him. Because it’s so confusing that Keith wants nothing to do with lying to a bunch of strangers, apparently. “Yes,” Keith drawls, shifting the laundry basket to his hip and glancing at the clock on the far wall. Ten thirty. He might be able to get his laundry done yet.

Lance squints back, perplexed. His lips press into a thin line, his head cocking to the side in confusion the way it always does when something goes over his head. For a long moment he says nothing, simply peers at Keith with narrowed eyes and a slight frown. “I’m getting mixed signals here,” he finally says, a hint of mirth in his voice.

Keith sighs, shaking his head. All he wanted to do wash his clothes. Why is that so damn hard? Giving up, Keith stalks towards Lance and shoves him from atop the washing machine to the dryer next to it, eliciting a hiss from the aforementioned male, who swats at him in return. Keith ignores him, for once, and simply opens the machine. “No, Lance, I will not pretend to date you over the holidays,” Keith clarifies snarkily, dumping his clothes into the washer.

Lance huffs from beside him, glaring at Keith as he reaches for a bottle of laundry detergent, because apparently it’s a crime to do laundry now. “Why not?” Lance asks—he doesn’t whine, no, Lance _never_ whines.

If Keith keeps rolling his eyes like this, they’re going to fall right out of his head.

He caps the detergent a little bit harder than he needed to before placing the bottle back on the shelf, then grabs the fabric softener. “Because A) I already have plans—” Keith starts, only to be cut off by a snort from Lance.

“No you don’t,” Lance argues, crossing his arms and leveling Keith with the most obnoxious look he’s ever seen. “You were just going to sit at home and watch shitty Christmas movies by yourself,” he snaps, rolling his eyes back at Keith.

Keith ignores him. “B) these types of situations never end well in movies.”

Lance scoffs. “Actually in movies they end very well,” he corrects Keith. Yeah, well. that certainly depends on one’s definition of “well.” Keith doesn’t exactly want his life to play out like some romantic comedy cliché. First of all, that’s sappy. Second of all, that’s unrealistic. And third, it seems like it comes with a lot more drama than necessary, and Keith has had more than a lifetime of drama already. He doesn’t need more.

“And C),” Keith stresses loudly, sending Lance a pointed look, “I have to deal with you every single day already,” he reminds Lance, nearly slamming the washing machine closed in frustration, “why the hell would I want to spend time with you during my _vacation_?” he asks, sending another look Lance’s way, one eyebrow raised in question.

And if he really wanted to spend more time with Lance, of all people—which he doesn’t—it wouldn’t be during Christmas vacation. It also wouldn’t be to meet Lance’s entire extended family and trick them into thinking they’re a couple. Which is frankly the _stupidest_ idea Lance has ever had, hands down. Even more so than the time Lance tried to shovel the apartment’s sidewalk with a broom.

Four hours, a destroyed broom, and a decisively grumpy Lance later and the sidewalk was clear of snow for all of a half-hour before a storm rolled in.

Lance gasps, sending Keith the most offended look he has ever seen before in his life and placing a hand on his heart. “That’s hurtful, Keith,” Lance complains, dark eyes wide and pleading, like a puppy that’s just been kicked. “I thought our relationship was really going somewhere!” Keith makes a face at that, and Lance huffs, hurt façade dropping as he crosses his arms once more. “Oh come on!” he barks, throwing his hands up in the air as Keith continues to ignore him. “You could go to Cuba,” Lance tells him, “have a nice time on the beach, soak up the sun!”

Keith sends Lance an utterly unimpressed look, one eyebrow quirked up as he frowns. “I don’t like the sun,” he reminds Lance, “or gross hot weather.” Or sand, the ocean, and tourists crammed onto a beach in a desperate attempt to get a shitty tan. Yeah, that’s kind of why he’s going to school in Washington state, with it’s nasty rainy weather and shitty snowstorms nine months out of the year. Besides, there are beaches in Washington! Cold, icy beaches, but beaches!

Frankly, he just doesn’t like getting sand in places sand shouldn’t be. Is that a crime?

Lance nods in agreement, a pensive expression on his face. “Oh, I can tell,” he murmurs, squinting at Keith. “You’re a pasty mo-fo,” he adds offhandedly, still peering at Keith, who chokes on his spit at Lance’s comment.

Keith glares at his roommate, sputtering slightly at the _completely unnecessary_ comment. “I’m _Korean_ ,” he reminds Lance, stabbing at the washing machine’s start button almost violently. Moving into this apartment was bad for his health. Maybe he should just go back to New York.

Lance scoffs. “That doesn’t mean you need to be that pasty,” he gripes, giving Keith a once-over. He makes a face, obviously not impressed. Well, darn. Now he’s going to have to go write in his diary about how Lance doesn’t like him. Keith rolls his eyes. “You look like a damn vampire,” Lance tacks on, his eyes widening suddenly as he slams both hands onto the dryer at his sides, head snapping around to face Keith fully. “Is that what the problem is?” he gasps, leaning in close to Keith, who shrinks back at the sudden lack of space between them. “You’re secretly a vampire and that’s why you don’t want to go to Cuba with me?” He doesn’t give Keith time to answer before jumping to the next question. “You’re afraid you’ll get all sparkly—” he raises his hands, wiggling his fingers in Keith’s face, “and be exposed? Keith why didn’t you just tell me?” he complains slapping a hand on either side of Keith’s face. “Oh my god, I thought we were friends!”

Keith hisses and swats away Lance’s offending limbs. “Lance, you dumbass,” he seethes, “I’m not a vampire!” he snaps backs, glaring as he leans back against the washing machine, not bothering to give the other man a second look. “We went to Mexico together, remember?” he asks bitterly, reminded of the terrible heat and all that fucking sand. “Please, shut up.”

Lance’s mouth closes with a click as his teeth snap together, and he simply blinks at Keith owlishly for several seconds as the other man runs a hand through his hair in frustration. Keith glances back at Lance just in time to see his roommate bite his lower lip. “Do you not have a green card?” Lance finally asks, breaking the sweet, sweet silence that had befallen them. “Is that the problem?”

Not for the first time, Keith contemplates murder.

He sighs, running a tired hand over his face as he glances up at the clock, watching the old hands click towards eleven, the second hand always catching at thirty-eight seconds. How time flies when your roommate is being insufferable. “I have a green card, Lance,” Keith reminds him tiredly, wishing that he would just go away and leave him in peace. Seriously, all he wanted to do was finish up his laundry, put on a nice warm sweater, and hen sleep for two days. Finals are over; he’s supposed to be able to sleep again! “You’ve already seen it, remember?” He sends Lance an unimpressed look. “ _Mexico_ _?_ ” You know, that thing Keith brought up exactly twenty seconds ago? Remember, Lance? Cancun? Spring break last year? That thing that happened that they don’t talk about?

Lance rolls his eyes and shifts from his spot on the dryer, moving to sit cross-legged on top of the machine. “Keith, I was joking,” he grumbles, exasperation clear in his voice. Lance makes a nose that sounds like “duh!” and Keith fights back the urge to strangle him. “But, seriously, why don’t you want to do this? I promise it won’t end up like Cancun!” he swears, making a show of crossing his heart and staring at Keith with big, puppy eyes.

Keith shrugs, fingers drumming along the side of the machine as it hums, vibrating against his back noisily. “I just don’t want to go to Cuba with you to trick your family into thinking we’re a couple, because you’ve been lying to them for the past year and are too afraid of your mom to tell the truth,” he says blankly. There’s no real reason he doesn’t want to go to Cuba. He just—doesn’t. Is that so bad? Plus, he’s not a huge fan of lying to people. Shiro taught him better than that.

His roommate shifts awkwardly atop the dryer, fingers twisting the dark fabric of his tee-shirt nervously, wrinkling it. “Lying is such a harsh word to use,” Lance tells him, laughing uneasily as he rubs the back of his head, fingers combing through his messy hair. “I prefer ‘exaggerating the truth.’ ” Keith quirks a brow, but says nothing. “Also, I’m not afraid of my mom,” Lance murmurs unconvincingly, stabbing a finger in Keith’s direction.

“You told your entire extended family that you have a loving boyfriend and would bring him home for the holidays,” Keith says simply. It’s not a question, not the way he says it. Just a sad, sad fact that has unfortunately made Keith’s night just that much more unbearable. When Keith agreed to move in there were only a few requirements: keep your room clean, don’t leave your clothes in the washing machine, and don’t have crazy loud sex. “Pretend to be Lance’s boyfriend” was not included on the waver Hunk made him sign.

There’s a moment of silence. Then— “Yes,” Lance replies, squirming and refusing to meet Keith’s gaze.

Keith nods slowly, staring at the door leading out to the living room and wondering if he can make an escape before Lance realizes what’s happening. Maybe he can lock himself in his room and pretend none of this ever happened. “And do you have a boyfriend?” Keith asks blankly, fingers stilling against the side of the machine as he shoots Lance a quick look.

Another pause as Lance rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, free hand drumming against the side of the machine, feet swinging idly as he avoids Keith’s gaze. “I do not,” Lance tells him, half-shrugging as he peers down at the floor.

Keith rolls his eyes, unable to decide between slapping himself or slapping his roommate. “That’s lying, Lance!” he snaps, exasperated. That is the literal definition of lying. Lance can say whatever he wants, but this is clearly a lie and Keith wants no part in this. None. At all. This isn’t Keith’s problem. He has no qualms with Lance being this year’s family disappointment—he brought this on himself.

Lance makes a sound that’s oddly desperate—like some strange combination of a whine and a growl that shoots a shiver right up Keith’s spine. What in the holy hell was that? He blinks rapidly, head snapping in Lance’s direction as the other man sends him a pleading look—his eyes going impossibly wide.

Keith’s stomach flips, but he’s not entirely sure it’s a bad thing.

“Please, just do me this solid, Keith!” Lance begs, twisting to the side and grabbing the closest appendage he can reach—Keith’s right arm—and _shaking it_. “I’ll never ask you for anything else again, I swear!” Tempting. Too bad it’s a _total lie,_ Lance. Keith distinctly remembers Lance promising the same exact thing when he asked Keith for twenty dollars to buy an absurd amount of toilet paper for some reason Keith didn’t bother to ask about.

Lance never did pay him back.

Keith purses his lips, eye twitching just the slightest as Lance gives him another shake, still staring at the side of his head. Maybe if he stays still long enough, Lance will take the hint and go away.

Keith thinks that might just be wishful thinking, as Lance releases his arm abruptly, only to jab a finger into his neck the next second. Keith hisses, flinching away and shooting Lance the nastiest look he can manage through his surprise.

“Please, Keith!” Lance whines again, aiming another jab—this time at Keith’s side. Keith grabs his wrist before his wiggling fingers can make contact, determined to keep his ticklish ribs a secret for as long as possible. That is certainly something that Lance does _not_ need to know about.

Lance gasps as Keith grabs him, but Keith it too focused on Lance’s sneaky fingers to make out his expression.

Keith huffs and releases Lance’s arm, scooting slightly farther away from his roommate before glancing up and meeting Lance’s wide eyes and dropped jaw. “Why the hell should I?” Keith manages to grit out between clenched teeth, barely sparing Lance a second look before staring down at his socks (bright yellow _bumblebee socks_ that Katie bought him a few months ago because, apparently, he needs more color in his life) with a frown. “Tell me, Lance,” he sighs, sending the other man a lazy look that does nothing to mask the steel in his eyes or the challenge in his voice. “Why on God’s green earth should I help you lie to your family just because you can’t buck up and tell them you aren’t seeing anyone?” Because tricking them seems a hell of a lot harder than just telling the truth!

Lance glares back at him, dark eyes narrowing as he straightens on top of the dryer, looking suspiciously calm in Keith’s eyes. A calm Lance means trouble. And Keith really doesn’t need anymore trouble today. The message is clear though. _Challenge accepted_.

“Because,” Lance starts simply, making a show of ripping his gaze away from Keith and focusing on his nails instead, “if you do it, I won’t tell your brother what happened in Cancun.” Lance shrugs noncommittally, but there’s a sly grin on his lips that he doesn’t even bother to cover up.

Keith stiffens immediately, back straightening as the words settle somewhere deep in his bones. His windpipe tightens and he’s almost certain that his heart has leapt straight into his throat. He swallows it down, head snapping around to face Lance almost mechanically, teeth bared at the other man. “Cancun,” Keith snarls back lowly, eyes narrowed dangerously, “was your fault!” His jaw clenches, the muscle jumping as his teeth grind together.

Lance reels back with a gasp, one hand pressed firmly over his heart. A mock wounded expression on his face. The smile never leaves him though. “No it wasn’t!” Lance growls back, sending Keith a nasty look. “You’re the one that pulled out the sword!” Lance snaps back at him, jabbing him in the chest with his pointer finger.

Keith considers ripping the offending appendage off, but decides the cleanup wouldn’t be worth it.

“I thought it was fake!” Keith huffs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. One would think that they’ve had this argument enough times already. Apparently not. Keith shoots Lance a look filled with poison, but Lance either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Probably the latter, that asshole.

Lance looks at him like he’s crazy, his eyes narrowing in befuddlement. “Why the _fuck_ ,” he starts, confusion dripping from his tongue, “would it be fake?” It’s rhetorical, of course, but Keith can think of several dozen reasons that the sword could have been fake. The number one reason being Lance bought it from a shady man on the corner who may or may not have been trying to sell Keith cocaine. Maybe. Keith isn’t exactly fluent in Spanish or social queues.

Regardless, Keith bristles at Lance’s haughty tone, his teeth grinding together and fingers curling into fists at his sides. If Keith was a cat he’d be hissing and his tail would be three sizes bigger than usual. He also realizes he has a valid excuse for not flying half way across the world. “You know what,” Keith snaps, throwing his hands up, “forget it!” He shoots Lance a look that’s two parts poison and one part smug. “I can’t even fly to Cuba anyway! I’m broke!”

Keith would laugh at the simplicity of the excuse if it wasn’t for the fact that he doesn’t even have enough money to visit his brother over the holidays. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and not for the first time resentment bubbles in his chest. He squishes it down like he does every time. It’s not worth dwelling on and it’s not Lance’s fault.

He’s so deep in his thoughts that it takes him several long seconds to notice the utter silence that’s befallen the room—to notice that Lance isn’t shrieking at him and trying to come up with some convoluted plan to smuggle him out of the country disguised as some large papier-mâché dolphin or something equally as insane. Silence is never good when it comes to Lance. It either means he’s utterly serious, which happens occasionally, but only rears its ugly head when Lance is extremely upset about something, or that Lance is hiding something.

Keith is inclined to believe this is the latter, given the circumstances.

His gaze slides over to Lance slowly, almost lazily if not for the stiffness of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw. Keith is entirely unsurprised to see Lance twiddling his thumbs and avoiding his gaze, something like guilt plastered across his face. Lance always has been one to wear his heart on his sleeves. He’s expressive and Keith doesn’t think there’s an emotion he _hasn’t_ seen cross Lance’s face at least once.

Sadness, disgust, anger, love, panic—he’s seen it all. And that look is all Keith needs to know that Lance has clearly ruined everything. “What did you do?” Keith hisses accusingly, lips pressing into a thin line—because he’ll be damned if Lance hasn’t done _something_.

Lance shoots him an uneasy grin, but there’s something like triumph in his eyes as well—as if he’s won. “Umm,” Lance coughs awkwardly. “I—umm—well,” he stumbles over the words, grimacing as he does so, before straightening suddenly and clearing his throat. “My parents kind of already sent two round trip tickets.”

Oh, well, that just solves everything doesn’t it?

For a moment, Keith doesn’t say anything, his mind having gone completely blank at Lance’s revelation. Why can’t he just say “no, I don’t want to go” again? Right, because Lance is a stubborn asshole that won’t take no for an answer. Awesome

“Oh,” Keith says simply, blinking once before turning back to the doorway. “So now you’re a liar and an embezzler,” he states simply, shrugging. He figures it’s best to just let it roll right off his back—no anger, no shouting, no _punching Lance in the dick_ —he’s tired, it’s been a weird night, and honestly this all might just be a dream.

Keith blinks again. He pinches himself.

Okay, oww, fuck, yeah, not a dream!

Lance whacks him on the shoulder a moment after he says it. “It’s not embezzlement!” Lance huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as he sends Keith a withering look. “I didn’t steal it,” he tacks on after a moment, softer than before.

Keith doesn’t need to look to know that his friend is pouting.

He snorts, mirroring Lance’s position. “You might as well have,” he grumbles, gaze shifting to stare at a watermark on the ceiling. Eww, he should get that fixed. Lord knows that neither Lance or Hunk will call in someone to fix it. “Do you remember the part where you lied to them?” he reminds Lance casually. “Yeah, that’s fraud.” Lance should know that, considering how many crime shows he watches. Granted, the one he’s most invested in is the one with zombies, so that’s probably not as educational as some others.

He peeks at Lance, meeting a frown. “What are you? A lawyer?” Lance grouses, laying the sarcasm on thick. Damn, Lance, don’t hurt yourself.

Maybe that’s what Keith should have gotten a degree in. Nah, he wouldn’t be able to sit in court all day and deal with people. He’s perfectly content with his art major and his freelance photography. Maybe law school would have paid better in the end, but Keith never has been one for practicality. He likes spontaneity too much to give it up. Besides, he’s known ever since the first time he picked up a camera that that was it for him. There was no going back.

Keith leans back against the washing machine, shoulder popping as he stretches out his arms. “No,” he replies, blatantly ignoring the sarcasm, “but if you keep up this lifestyle you’re going to need one,” he tacks on, biting back a smirk as Lance bristles in irritation, on the cusp of taking the bait.

And that’s exactly what Keith wants: an argument. For some unfathomable reason, Keith has a strange fascination with getting under Lance’s skin. He likes picking fights with other man, though that might have more to do with Keith’s temperament than Lance himself. Regardless of the reasons, Lance always takes the bait, so Keith figures he likes arguing just as much.

There’s a beat of silence and neither of them move. Keith tenses, waiting for Lance to lash out in response, but it never comes. Instead of being whacked upside the head, he gets another one of those desperate wheezing sounds from Lance.

He’s not sure which one he would consider worse.

Lance slips down from the dryer and places a hand on each of Keith’s shoulders, leaning in closer than Keith would consider necessary and looking him right in the eyes. “Please, Keith,” Lance practically whispers in his ear, warm breath fanning across Keith’s face and sending a shock right up his spine.

Well that was uncalled for and not completely unpleasant.

Keith doesn’t waste a beat. “No,” he drawls, sighing and shoving Lance’s face away from his. Sometimes Keith likes Lance’s ability to not take “no” for an answer. This is not one of those times.

The washing machine screams behind him, beeping obnoxiously to let him know that it’s finished. Keith turns his back on Lance, busying himself with tossing his wet clothes into the dryer and trying to ignore Lance’s whining behind him. Which is a hell of a lot easier said than done.

“Please?” A finger is jabbed in Keith’s back as he shakes out his favorite sweater before dropping it into the dryer.

“No,” he replies simply, tossing in a pair of socks and a ratty tee-shirt that he’s had for years. He sighs. He’s been doing that a lot today. “Lance, why don’t you just ask Hunk if you’re so inclined to lie to your family?” Because that would be simpler and far less painful than badgering Keith relentlessly.

 _Lance_ , he decides, _must be a sadist._

Lance makes a sound like a dying whale and Keith slams the dryer door shut, starting the machine as Lance sulks behind him, still far too close for Keith’s comfort. “They know Hunk!” Lance bemoans. “Besides, Hunk is going back Hawaii to see his grandparents. I already asked him earlier.”

Keith will never admit out loud how his stomach twists unpleasantly at the news that he wasn’t even Lance’s first choice. It shouldn’t bother him— _it shouldn’t_. Because Keith wants no part in this scheme anyway, so why should it matter that he was a second choice?

It doesn’t, he decides a moment later, violently stabbing at the dryer’s start button before spinning around to face Lance, a bored expression plastered across his face.

Lance blinks back, oblivious to Keith’s inner turmoil.

Keith rolls his eyes. “Then ask Katie,” he snaps, shrugging half-heartedly. Katie would do it, if only to get an eyeful of embarrassing baby photos. She’s kind of a little shithead, like that, but she’s certainly a better actor than Keith could ever be. She did trick Lance into thinking she was a boy for several months. Which probably says less about Katie’s acting skills and more about Lane’s lack of observational skills. For a smart guy, Lance can be about as observant as a brick wall.

Then again, Katie might say no, purely on account of her being Jewish and all. Would it be wrong of him to buy her a Christmas present? He’ll have to Google that later.

Lance’s pleading expression turns into one of absolute disgust. Wow. Keith is offended _for_ Katie. Keith doesn’t need to be straight to recognize that she’s kind of adorable—in an angry little gremlin kind of way. No offense to Katie, but he’s seen what happens when you feed her after midnight and it’s not pretty.

“Eww,” Lance blanches, drawing out the word longer than Keith finds necessary. “Pidge is like my sister! That’s gross, Keith!” Lance pulls another face, nose wrinkling.

Keith is totally going to tell her that Lance thinks the idea of dating her is gross. She’ll probably beat him up, even if she does agree.

“Well, you could ask Matt,” Keith suggests absentmindedly, scraping his mind for anyone else that might be willing to pretend to date Lance. He’s finding the last to be very, very short, and he’s not quite sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. He hasn’t decided yet.

Lance sighs again and Keith can’t for the life of him figure out why Matt is a no-go.

“Matt has a boyfriend.”

That’ll do it.

“Oh, really?” Keith blinks in surprise. Huh, he never would have guessed that Matt would be able to find himself a date. Not that he knows Matt all too well. He’s only spoken to the guy a handful of times, and that’s only because he and Katie ended up in the same psychology class and it was easier to study at her house than the apartment. “Well, good for him.” Keith shrugs.

Lance practically growls at him. “Keith!” he barks, over the low rumble of the dryer, slamming a fist down on top of the washing machine in frustration. “What do you want me to do,” he snaps, eyes narrowing dangerously, “get on my knees and beg?”

Well that would certainly be a sight to see. A woefully inappropriate sight, but a sight no less.

Keith groans and runs a hand through his messy hair in irritation. “Please, don’t,” he replies blankly, fighting the urge to sigh for the millionth time tonight. Isn’t there some warning about sighing too much? Or is that just the thing with making faces? He doesn’t know. He’s too tired for this.

Maybe he should’ve thrown Lance out the window when he had a chance.

Lance purses his lips, eyes narrowing in determination as he looks Keith up and down—which is never a good sign. “I’m going to do it,” Lance tells him suddenly.

And that’s all the warning Keith gets before Lance drops to his knees uncomfortably close to Keith’s crotch. Keith inhales sharply, eyes going impossibly wide as Lance’s fingers curl around the backs of his knees, palms burning him though his sweats as Lance slides closer, peering up at Keith with wide, pleading eyes.

 Keith considers kicking, but Lance has a firm grip on his legs and seems to have no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“Lance!” Keith hisses, trying to jerk his legs out of his frenemies grasp to no avail. “No!” he berates, wishing he had a spray bottle on hand. If it works on cats it has to work on humans, too, because cats are the single most untrainable animal Keith has ever seen besides Lance. “Why are you like this?” Keith asks, trying to knee Lance in the face.

“Please, Keith?”

“Oh, god,” Keith groans, heart skipping a beat. He’s fairly certain that his face is a very lovely shade of oh-dear-god-what-is-happening red and he’s not entirely sure if he’s breathing normally at this point. Why did he think moving in with Hunk and Lance was a good idea again? Right, it’s probably because Hunk was nice and Lance didn’t seem like such a freak at first glance.

Hindsight is a bitch.

Lance ignores his obvious discomfort and slides even closer, if physically possible. “Please?” The clock is ticking towards midnight and this is not how Keith wanted to end his night. Why the hell isn’t Hunk home? Actually that might be a good thing, considering what _this_ must look like out of context. Granted, in context it’s not much better.

Keith blush only deepens, his heart skipping a beat. “You know this is a very awkward position—”

Lance cuts him off with a low whine, “Keith!”

“—and if someone were to walk in—”

“Please!” Lance whines again, sending Keith another pleading look.

“Lance,” Keith sighs, glaring up at the ceiling and praying for god to, like, smite him, or something, because this is positively bad for his health and Lance doesn’t look like he’s going to quit anytime soon.

“Please, Keith,” Lance squeezes his leg, “I’m _literally_ begging right now.”

Keith groans in frustration and runs a tired hand down the side of his face. He’s probably going to regret this tomorrow. “Fine!” he relents, once again trying to shake his dumbass roommate off his leg. “I’ll do it! Just get up you dumbass!” he barks none to kindly.

If Lance is a sadist, that must make Keith a masochist. And honestly? At this point things _probably_ can’t get that much worse, but he’s not going to say that out loud. This year has been absolutely batshit and Keith is not going to tempt fate. This year has been positively sentient and Keith’s afraid that it will take it as a challenge if he says things can’t get worse.

They can. They will. Keith is surprised any of them made it this far, all things considered.

Lance’s face breaks out into a smile of pure joy, but Keith doesn’t miss the underlying smugness or the flash in Lance’s eyes that looks very much like the cat that got the cream. “Yay!” Lance’s arms wrap around Keith’s legs in a hug that almost takes both of them down. Almost. Luckily, Keith has a firm grip on the dryer behind him and absolutely no intention of letting go. “Thank you, Keith!”

Keith frowns and squirms in place, finally managing to dislodge Lance from where he’s attached himself to Keith legs. What a damn leech. Keith rolls his eyes, more than a little uncomfortable with the sudden display of affection. It’s not so much the grabbing and hugging that’s the problem (he gets plenty of that from Hunk and occasionally Katie when she’s in an especially good mood), it’s the who. “Yeah, whatever,” Keith mumbles dismissively, sidestepping Lance and heading for the door.

His sweater can wait until morning.

“You have no idea how much this means to me!” Lance calls after him, lunging forward to place a thankful hand on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith freezes in place, spine going rigid and eyes widening in shock as the breath is knocked out of him. Something sour fills his mouth and his throat tightens unexpectedly, like there’s a tight fist wrapped around his windpipe. That resentment starts to creep up again, but Keith pushes it back, determined not to say something he’ll regret in the morning, because it’s _not_ Lance’s fault. It’s not.

The bitterness seeps out regardless of his tight lips. “I’m sure I don’t,” he spits unintentionally. The words taste like poison and he immediately wishes he could take them back, because it’s not Lance’s fault.

It’s Keith’s.

Lance’s hand slips from his shoulder and Keith can practically feel him take a step back. That’s when the silence sets in. It’s heavy this time, almost like a blanket has been settled over them, but there’s nothing warm about this. It feels like there’s ice creeping through his veins. “Oh, Keith, I’m—”

“I’m going to go call my brother,” Keith cuts him off, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Tell him I’ll be out of the country for a little while,” he tacks on, trying not to sound so harsh. And it’s not a lie or an excuse to leave. He was going to call Shiro anyway.

At least that’s what he’s going to tell himself, he thinks, glancing up at the clock—watching as it _tick—tick—ticks_ closer to midnight with each passing second.

Lance is quiet for a handful of seconds. “Okay,” he replies softly.

Keith takes another two steps before pausing at the door. “Oh, and, Lance?” he calls over his shoulder, twisting just the slightest to look back at his sullen roommate. Lance perks up just the slightest when Keith says his name, and Keith’s lips twitch into a small smile.

“Yeah?” Lance calls back, looking very much like a puppy that’s just been stepped on but loves you anyway. If Lance had a tail it would be wagging.

The smile leaves his face and he sends Lance the most threatening look he can manage. “If you _ever_ ,” Keith stresses, practically hissing at the other man, “bring up Cancun to my brother, I’m going to drive you back down to Mexico, tie you up, gag you, and leave you in the desert to fend for yourself, understand?”

Lance blinks back at him in shock, his mouth dropping open just the slightest. Keith is fine with leaving it at that and gives a half-shrug before turning his back on Lance once more and taking another step towards the exit.

And then—“That’s pretty kinky, Keith,” Lance mumbles.

Keith practically chokes on his spit as he whirls around to look at Lance. For a moment, his lips move but no words come out. “You’re unbelievable,” Keith finally sputters, blinking at Lance owlishly, eyes wide and shocked.

Lance smiles. “Thank you.”

Keith doesn’t spare him a second glance before bolting from the cramped little laundry room and disappearing down the hall into his bedroom. His cell phone is yanked from his pants pocket and he’s already dialing Shiro’s number before the door slams shut behind him.

It’s only after the sixth ring that Keith remembers the three hours time difference between Seattle and New York.

Regardless of the insane time difference and the fact that Keith has just woken him up at nearly three in the morning, Shiro—ever reliable in every aspect of Keith’s life—still picks up his phone, answering with a nonsensical slur that Keith thinks is supposed to be a “hello” but sounds more like someone gargling marbles.

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith blurts, dropping onto his bed and yanking his pillow into his arms, squeezing tightly as static comes through the phone, followed by a shuffling that Keith assumes is Shiro sitting up.

 _“Keith!”_ Shiro greets, warmth seeping through the phone despite the fact that Keith has called him at a ridiculously early hour (frankly, if the roles had been reversed, Keith would be more inclined to toss his phone out the window than answer with a smile, but Shiro always has been the friendlier of the two of them). Keith can practically hear the smile in his brother’s voice and that makes him relax just the slightest. _“How’ve you been buddy?”_ Shiro asks, yawning.

Keith’s fingers drum against the side of his leg nervously, his foot jiggling where it’s hanging off the side of the bed. The door across from his closes with a quiet click as Lance slips silently into his room. “Good,” he swallows thickly, gaze sliding to the glow in the dark stars that Katie stuck to his ceiling last summer, “I’ve been good.” Keith winces as he says it, the words sounding false, even to him—and Keith is a master at lying to himself.

There’s a beat of silence and Keith’s throat tightens once more. _“Yeah,”_ Shiro whispers, the word dry but not harsh. He can’t remember the last time Shiro was harsh to _anyone_. _“You sound like it.”_ He never has been able to lie to his brother—it’s like Shiro just _knows_ when something’s bothering him. And Keith has always been grateful for that.

Keith says nothing in response and from the other side of the phone Shiro heaves a sigh. _“Keith,”_ he says gently, so softly that Keith can barely hear him. _“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or do you just want to sit here silently all night? Because I’m fine with either, but it would be nice to know now,”_ he teases, not sounding the least bit upset about being woken so early.

“I’m sorry, Shiro,” Keith sighs—he’s been doing that a lot lately—running a tired hand down the side of his face and tracing the constellations on his ceiling with his eyes. “I just—” he cuts himself off, groaning lowly. “My roommate just sprung something on me and I—it’s just really complicated,” Keith finishes awkwardly, nose wrinkling at the half-assed revelation.

Shiro is quiet as he ponders Keith’s words. _“What kind of complicated?”_ he finally asks gently.

Keith stares at Aries on his ceiling. “He asked me to be his boyfriend,” Keith admits, red-faced. He clears his throat, suddenly feeling very tongue-tied. His mouth goes dry, his tongue feeling all too heavy in his mouth, and Keith rolls onto his stomach. His pillow slips to the floor but Keith doesn’t pay it any mind as he blindly gropes at his side table for his camera.

 _“That doesn’t sound too complicated to me,”_ Shiro chuckles, as if it’s funny. And maybe it would be, if it didn’t feel like the world was playing some big, cosmic joke on him. At least he’ll get food out of it though. And if Lance has any relatives that he hates, maybe Keith can start a fight on the front law. He’s good at that.

Keith snorts, lips quirking up at the edges. “Let me rephrase,” he says, laughing bitterly to himself. “He asked me to _pretend_ to be his boyfriend over the holidays because he refuses to tell his parents that he’s not actually dating anyone.” Keith supposes that one day he’ll be able to laugh about this, but he has the strangest feeling that, somehow, agreeing to this is going to come back to bite him in the ass.

Something’s going to go wrong, he can feel it.

Shiro makes a strange wheezing sound as his laugh suddenly melts into a cough. _“That makes it a little bit more complicated,”_ Shiro drawls, and Keith can picture the bewildered expression on his brother’s face—the slight frown and the pinch of his brow, one eyebrow raised just a tick higher than the other. The amusement never leaves his voice, however, Keith can’t be bothered by it.

He snickers back, voice just a tad higher than usual. “Just a little,” he agrees. Or a lot. They’re going to have to make up a dating history that they’ll both probably end up butchering. And they’re actually going to have to sell the fact that they’re dating, which is going to be horrible because Keith a terrible actor and Lance always gets too smiley when he lies. And they’ll have to hold hands in public. And _kiss_ —oh shit, he’s going to have to _kiss_ Lance.

Whoever pulls out the mistletoe is getting punched in the face.

 _“So is there a reason I needed to know this at three in the morning? Or did you just miss me?”_ Shiro asks him. Keith thinks it might be a joke, but it’s pretty damn close to the truth.

He wets his lips as he turns on his camera, flipping through the photos for a moment and saying nothing. “They sent him two plane tickets to Cuba,” he finally murmurs, stopping on a picture of a very exasperated Hunk trying to teach a very uncoordinated Lance how to hula—with Katie sitting behind them shouting encouragements.

His smile widens—just a little. It’s a good picture, he decides. A really good picture. Sometimes it’s hard to catch someone’s entire personality in a photograph, but he thinks he’s done it with this one. Maybe it’s just because he knows them like the back of his hand, but that’s not quite it. It’s something in their expressions.

Keith will have to frame this one later.

 _“Oh,”_ Shiro replies after what feels like a lifetime of silence. And that’s it. There’s not much else to say about it.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees quietly. “Oh.”

Another crackle from the other side. _“And I’m guessing you’re not too happy about that,”_ Shiro mutters, sighing. A moment later, he snots, loudly. Then, he begins to laugh so loudly that Keith jerks away from the phone in surprise, nearly dropping his camera in shock. _“I can’t say I’m surprised,”_ Shiro snickers. _“You never have liked other people helping you out,”_ he reminds Keith, _“not even when you were so little you couldn’t reach into the kitchen cabinets!”_ He breaks out into another round of laughter and Keith rolls his eyes good-naturedly, a small smile on his face. _“You would rather climb up there yourself and risk falling down than ask Mom or Dad to grab something for you. God, you were such a prickly little porcupine!”_

Keith groans and sets his camera aside, rolling onto his back once more. “Shiro, be serious,” he whines, throwing an arm across his eyes to block out the light. He really should go to sleep. It’s been a long day, and tomorrow doesn’t seem like it will be much better.

 _“I am!”_ Shiro laughs back, sounding decisively less serious than his words would imply. _“Keith, you can’t just let your friend down, now can you?”_ Keith figures this is the part where he’s supposed to have some big revelation about how much Lance means to him and how he’d go to the ends of the Earth to help him out. Unfortunately, Keith _kind of_ just wants to shove Lance in a cardboard box and ship him far, far away.

He pauses before speaking, considering his words carefully. “Well…” he trails off lightly, biting back a smirk

 _“Keith,”_ Shiro chastises, something disapproving in his tone, but it’s light—barely there. Shiro might be one for helping everyone out and doing heroic deeds, but Keith? Well, he’s a prickly little porcupine.

He sighs, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. “I could still visit you,” Keith says, softer than before, as if someone might be listening in. Shiro is silent on the other end and Kith winces. “I’ve been saving up,” he continues slowly, weighing the words before he says them. “If I work a few more shifts I might be able to…” He doesn’t finish the thought.

 _“Keith,”_ Shiro murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I know you want to come home,” he says, “but I’m not going to let you work yourself into the ground to do it.”

Keith’s lips twitch up just the slightest. “I know,” he whispers back. “I just want to go home.” Sometimes he wonders why he left New York in the first place. The only good thing Seattle brought into his life was his friends, but even that was at the expense of what’s left of his family. He can’t have both, he realizes with a frown. Not when he’s broke.

 _“I know.”_ Shiro sighs—something low and sad and more lonely than Keith has ever heard in his life. _“I want you to come home, too,”_ he carries on, _“and if I could fly out there you know I would. Just, hold out until summer, Keith. Okay?”_

Keith exhales heavily. “I will,” he tells Shiro, shifting his arm so that he can peer up at the stars once more. “I miss you,” he adds as an afterthought. Sometimes he just needs to say it out loud.

 _“I miss you, too.”_ More static. _“Take lots of pictures, okay?”_ Shiro implores, that lightness making it’s way back into his words. _“I want you to show me everything when you get home this summer! And remember to call me!”_ he demands playfully, always the mother hen of the two of them.

“I will.”

 _“And be safe okay?”_ Shiro asks him, sincerity dripping from his tone.

“I will. I promise,” he says, finally pulling his phone away from his ear after Shiro murmurs a goodbye.

Keith hangs up, not sure if he’s feeling better or worse after talking to his brother.

 

* * *

 

The rental car hits another bump and Keith begins to wonder how Lance even passed his driver’s test. They’ve run at least two stop signs in the last half-hour and Keith has completely given up on telling Lance not to be so reckless. At this point, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die a horrible, violent death by Lance— _Ha!_ Death by _Lance_! What a way to go.

Honestly, he’s kind of surprised they made it this far without killing each other. It’s been a little over a week since Lance suddenly sprung this horrible plan on him, and surprisingly neither of them have tried to strangle the other yet. Oh, but Keith has thought about it.

Mostly, they tried to avoid each other for the first few days, but by the forth, Lance had gone into a complete panic because they didn’t have a back-story and his family was sure to ask questions and _holy shit Keith we won’t be able to pull this off_. Keith had been very rudely awakened on the Saturday morning after finals by Lance breaking into his room and beating him with his own pillow, all the while screaming about how his mother is going to kill him.

Keith was very, very close to just smothering Lance with the pillow and going back to sleep, but figured Hunk wouldn’t be thrilled with it. Instead, he had ripped his pillow out of Lance’s arms and proceeded to smack him across the face with it. That had calmed him down pretty quickly. Of course, Lance had been none too thrilled to be slapped in the face, so an all out pillow war ensued until Katie—who Keith didn’t know was spending the night—busted down his door to tell them to “knock it the fuck off, dipshits!” She’s always been the most eloquent out of the four of them.

Luckily, they got their story straight, kind of. It’s still a bit messy and Keith thinks they’re just going to roll with whatever happens. Basically, as long as they can remember what lies they told what people, they’ll be fine. Probably.

Keith purses his lips and leans his head against the window, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to ignore Lance screeching—because he absolutely refuses to refer to it as singing—along to some fast-paced song on the radio. He cracks open an eye and shoots Lance a nasty look, but the other male is too preoccupied with trying to raise the roof to pay any attention to Keith.

Not that it matters.

Anyway, things have been good for the past few days, save for their almost brawl at the airport.

Keith winces.

_Lance leaned in close to Keith as they waited in line, lips nearly touching his ear, causing Keith to stiffen at the sudden contact. “Are you sure you have your passport?” he asked anxiously, shifting from foot to foot as they moved closer to the front._

_Keith sighed, wondering if it was too late to bail and just go home to an empty apartment for the holidays. “Yes, Lance,” he hissed back, especially irritated at having to be awake at five in the morning to hop on a plane for a trip he didn’t even want to go on. That, and Lance had asked about his passport three times already in the past half-hour. Keith was about ready to shove it down Lance’s throat if he asked again. “I’m sure I have my passport,” he snapped, shoving Lance away from him._

_It was quiet for all of two seconds before Lance shuffled closer once more. “Okay,” he murmured, shooting a nervous look around the already bustling airport. Keith sighed, rubbing at his temples, already feeling a headache coming on. “But are you_ sure _?” Lance pressed, foot tapping rhythmically against the floor._

_Keith rolled his eyes, teeth grinding together as he shot Lance a poisonous look out of the corner of his eye. Lance merely smiled back. That’s when Keith realizes Lance had been trying to piss him off. His eyes narrow further. “Do you?” Keith asked suddenly, hands clenching into fists around the straps of his bag._

_Lance cackled suddenly, drawing the attention of several people in the vicinity and gaining them several strange looks. Keith resisted the urge to step on Lance’s foot. “Well, I hope so!” Lance continued to laugh. “Otherwise this probably won’t end well!” he snickered, jabbing an elbow into Keith’s ribs and nearly knocking the wind out of him._

_Keith is much less amused. “Lance,” he snarled up at his roommate, “if I get arrested because of you again—” he started to threaten, but Lance cut him off before he could say anything particularly vulgar._

_“Technically,” Lance called back at him, practically skipping forward as the line moved for the first time in what seemed like hours, “we weren’t arrested!” he corrected brightly, always the optimist between the two of them._

_Keith rolled his eyes and stalked after the other male, the frown never leaving his lips. “Oh,” he snarked back, unable to keep the sarcasm from creeping into his words, “because that makes it so much better!” He threw his hands up in the air, practically stomping after Lance as the line continued to move. Honestly, the only reason Cancun wasn’t a total bust, was because Keith got some great shots of the beach and all of the resorts. Other than that, Keith would have rather just stayed home for break._

_Lance tossed him a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, we got away!” he reminded Keith, pointing a finger at him before nearly tripping over his untied shoe—which Keith told him to tie ten minutes ago, but no! Why the hell would Lance listen to anything Keith has to say?_

_Keith snorted in response, grimacing as images of being chased by foreign law enforcement came to mind. “Yeah,” he agreed, decisively less enthusiastic than Lance had been. “And then we had to flee a foreign country.” Good times! Not!_

_The other man merely shrugged. “Hey, that was on you,” Lance told him, his eyes narrowing just the slightest. Keith bared his teeth at Lance’s retreating form, wondering how much trouble he would be in if he tackled someone in an airport. “If you hadn’t whipped out a sword—”_

_Keith exploded. “You’re the one that threw the piñata!” he snarled back, far louder than he had meant to. Several people turned to look at the arguing men, including the security guard hidden away in the corner of the room. Keith paid them no mind, far more concerned with beating the shit out of Lance. Cancun was_ not _Keith’s fault_ dammit _!_

_Lance whirled around, stomping back to Keith. “It was a joke!” he growled back, looking about ready to throttle his sometimes friend._

_“Who chucks a piñata at someone as a joke?”_

_“Umm,_ me _, obviously!”_

And then the security guard had come over and politely told them to shut the hell up, or he would escort them out of the airport. Such fun!

Keith sighs, sending Lance another quick look. “How much longer?” he calls over the radio, cutting off Lance mid high-note and causing the other man to choke suddenly, sending him into a coughing fit. Keith rolls his eyes. What a baby.

It takes a moment, but Lance finally composes himself. “We’re almost there,” he informs Keith, turning down the radio until it’s nothing but a low hum of background noise. “We have about ten more minutes, I’d say.”

He guesses. How comforting. Keith blanches. It’s no secret that Lance’s “ten minutes” is vastly different from everyone else’s “ten minutes.” It’s not that Lance can’t tell time, it’s just that he’s fucking horrible at estimating how long things will take. The last time Lance wanted him to wait for “ten minutes” Keith was stuck outside in a freezing car while Lance ran into Wal-Mart to grab toilet paper.

Keith very nearly _froze his ass off_ that day.

He’s still not sure why it took Lance nearly a half-hour to find the goddamn toilet paper, and he probably doesn’t want to ask.

“So, I don’t know very much Spanish,” Keith says casually, staring out the window as they drive further into the desert, only half wondering if Lance is going to murder him and leave his body in the desert for the vultures. Frankly, that would probably be better than the whole “meet the parents” shenanigan. Hell, he’d probably help Lance dig his grave.

Lance sighs, peering at him over the rim of his sunglasses. “Yes, Keith,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “I am aware that you don’t speak my language.” He murmurs something under his breath in Spanish, but Keith doesn’t understand any of it. “Why?”

Keith considers punching him.

“Just for future reference,” he grumbles. Lance nods, turning back to the road. Keith waits for him to take a sip from his water bottle before asking a quick question. “Hey, lance, when did we start dating?”

A malicious smirk creeps onto Keith’s face as Lance starts choking, wheezing what sounds like a “what” through a coughing fit. Yeah, that was satisfying right there.

“Didn’t we agree on Valentine’s Day?” Lance babbles between choking sounds, shooting Keith a nasty look. Keith sends him an equally nasty look, paired with an expression that clearly says _no, Lance, we did not start dating on Valentine’s Day. That’s cheesy and cliché, you big idiot!_ “Dammit, Keith!” Lance hisses, looking very much like a cat that was just tossed in a bathtub. “Give me a break! I’m not good under pressure!”

“Well, than maybe you shouldn’t have lied to everyone!” Keith fires back, turning in his seat to face Lance, who keeps glancing between him and the road.

“I hate you,” Lance decides.

“That’s not what you’ve been telling your mom all year.”

Lance gasps, a look of horror crossing his face. “You leave my mother out of this!”

Keith throws up his hands in surrender, and turns back to the front, jaw clenching tightly. Lance grumbles something under his breath, but Keith pretends not to hear, intent on ignoring Lance for the next “ten minutes.”

**Author's Note:**

> So uh, there's part one: A! Part One: B will focus on Shallura and C will be about Hunk and Pidge, before circling back around to what's happening with Klance! I'm estimating a total of 10 parts (?) so there will be roughly 30 chapters, plus an epilogue, potentially! I hope to update again later this week, but I might be too busy. Expect more frequent updates after December 16th!
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! Be sure to drop a comment and tell me if you liked it! I would really love some feedback from all of you, because this is my first attempt at writing for this fandom and I'd like to know if I need to work on characterization!


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